


The Fog

by Pureblood_Muggle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Unhappy Ending, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pureblood_Muggle/pseuds/Pureblood_Muggle
Summary: Hermione Granger takes the chance to do research in peace for a week, looking forward to Ron, Harry, and Ginny joining her by the end of it. She's enjoying the solitude - if only the fog would lift.Written for FFS: Fairest Freaky Spooktacular - WINNER: Best Thriller! (Thank you to everyone who voted for this!)





	The Fog

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was an Aesthetic one on Fairest of the Rare on Facebook. 
> 
> The characters belong to JKRowling and no copyright infringement is intended. I only borrowed them to play a little.
> 
> Thank you to Lolitaweasley for lending me an extra set of eyes and making this postable <3

Aesthetic prompt - on Fairest of the Rare on Facebook:

  
  


******

Hermione looked around the little cabin and sighed in contentment. It was exactly how she envisaged it to be: a wooden hut, comfortably furnished with a dark red fabric sofa, blankets to snuggle up in, squashy armchairs, an antique writing desk, a large fireplace, and a small kitchen with a range cooker, Belfast sink and scrubbed down table for four off the main room. The two bedrooms each had a large double bed with soft, colourful linen and throws, and a small wardrobe. The only bathroom featured a deep claw-foot tub. Cosy without feeling tiny and cramped, spacious enough for when Ron, Harry, and Ginny would join her in a weeks’ time. 

Yes, it had been worth apparating to the edge of the forest and hiking the rest of the way in. At first she’d questioned just how remote it was, even for wizards, but then, wasn’t this exactly what she needed? A few days without media, co-workers, and the fear of unannounced visitors? 

This place would do nicely for a week of solitude while she worked out the kinks in her research. The Ministry had an impressive library and she’d taken out each and every book there was on the history, legislation, and customs of pureblood society and their laws. 

Since transferring to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement three months ago she had made it her personal mission to change the archaic laws that still impacted her - and many, many other muggle-born and half-blood witches and wizards - on a daily basis.

Too many lives had already been lost in wizarding wars, the price had been too high. She wasn’t going to let it happen again if she could help it so she threw herself into her mission, heart and soul.

Hermione moved to the kitchen after placing her trusty beaded bag onto the old writing desk. Smiling to herself, she filled the kettle with water and set it to boil on the range cooker and pulled out supplies to make herself a sandwich. She pulled her cardigan closer around herself and decided she would put the fire on already, even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. 

It was mid-September and autumn was definitely on its way, though she felt as if it was unseasonably cold already. The weather felt more like late October, damp, dark, and murky. Hermione wished it would yet turn and give an Indian Summer. She would love to sit out by the lake near this cabin, catch the last few rays of sunshine, and get lost in her books outside. Instead, thick fog lingered, uninviting to prolonged outside activities. 

The kettle whistled, pulling her out of her reverie. She opened the cupboards and found that true to his word, they were fully stocked with all the essentials and even a few treats. Hermione decided that she would have to thank Kingsley with more than a thank you token for making this place available to her. It was beautiful, unplottable, and so quiet, she could finally hear herself think, unlike at the Ministry where she was interrupted so often, she had to write herself memos in order to keep up.

As much as she’d fought him, she had to admit that taking time off - albeit with intent to do research - had been a good idea and Hermione was glad that she’d let her boss bully her into it after all.

Hermione carried her hot chocolate and her sandwich plate, to which she’d added a small packet of crisps and a chocolate biscuit, into the living room and set it down on the low coffee table. Before sitting down, she picked up kindling and logs from the basket next to the large fireplace and built up her fire. She used her wand to light it and instantly felt warmer when the orange flames flickered to life. 

This, she mused, could quite easily turn into her happy place.

She chose a book from her beaded bag, which had already served her well years ago on the Horcrux hunt, and sat down on the couch, getting lost in the words and slowly sipping her hot drink and absentmindedly eating her food. 

By the time she had to put in a break to use the loo, she realised that outside had become dark already and the fire was burning low. She flicked her wand to levitate another couple of logs onto the embers and made her way to the bathroom. 

The bathroom was dark, and cold after the glowing warmth of the living room. She cast a _ Lumos _ and found torch brackets on the wall which she quickly lit. Shaking her head, she used the loo and washed her hands, wondering if she should expand her research into how magical homes might get connected to electricity in order to make life easier.

As much as Hermione marvelled on a daily basis just how much magic made her life easier in so many ways, it amazed her that wizardkind still, after so many centuries, relied on light sources from two centuries ago. Even the late Victorians had electricity after all. She nearly forgot to extinguish the torches again and berated herself about fire hazards.

Back in the living room, she read for another couple of hours before her eyes became so droopy that she gave up and prepared to go to bed. Once again, she wished for electricity and central heating. After brushing her teeth, she placed a warming charm onto the sheets and slipped into fluffy, maroon pyjamas with enchanted snitches zooming about on the fabric. She was glad she’d packed fluffy socks.

***

Over the next three days, Hermione quickly fell into a routine: she woke up at 8am, ate a breakfast of yoghurt and granola, had a strong cup of coffee, walked up to the lake for some fresh air, and then returned to pour over the books she’d brought with her. She lamented the perpetual mist and fog hanging around the area.

Her notes quickly became large books themselves, filling by the hour with references, ideas, questions she had to find answers to upon her return. She would pause for lunch briefly, stretch her legs again with a short walk and continue on for the full afternoon. 

In the evenings, after preparing a small dinner for herself, she would read for leisure for an hour before actually sleeping. The sleep, she thought, was some of the most restful she’d had in years. It must have been the solitude and quietness, she marvelled. After all these years of chaos, her mind actually relaxed here in the cabin. It was a revelation. 

Hermione just really wished the fog would bloody well lift. Her mind was clearer here in the quiet of the cabin, but the weather - well, it was a different story altogether. She couldn’t remember if she’d actually seen the sun in the three days she’d been here. Not that England was known for its sunny climate. 

Still, she noticed that the fog was closing in. Hermione wasn’t easily frightened, nor was she paranoid. Especially not by weather, for Merlin’s sake. It was just that the continuing fog that spread around the cabin and the small lake that was beside it, appeared to be closing in on her, encroaching on her space and dulling her peace.

This morning, for example, when she took her stroll to the lake to clear her mind before sitting down for more research, her outing had not been as refreshing as the two mornings before. If anything, the farther she’d walked from the cabin, the closer she got to the fog, the more anxious she became. 

Maybe the solitude wasn’t the brightest idea after all. Maybe she was so used to the hustle and bustle of London and the Ministry, and the Burrow that her mind rebelled against the peace, making up bogeymen where there weren’t any. Maybe she should just pull on her big girl pants and get on with what she came here to do in the first place. Ron and Harry had arranged to have the weekend off duty, and Ginny would be back from training camp at Holyhead. Their planning had worked out perfectly, and instead of dwelling on silly notions of looming fog, she determined to concentrate on counting down until her best friends, and her boyfriend would arrive.

With that in mind, she deliberately took another walk after she’d eaten her lunch. The short ventures outside were doing her the world of good, even if it was cold and damp. As her mother had always said, ‘_ There is no bad weather, just the wrong clothing _.’

So she’d donned a heavier coat, and her old Gryffindor scarf and ventured out. She sat down on the small wooden pier and dangled her legs over the edge. Lost deep in thought, her mind went back to places she hadn’t been in a long time. Positive thoughts of enjoying her calm slowly turned negative. Hermione thought back to when Ron had abandoned Harry and her in the Forest of Dean, when she was kept apart from the boys in Malfoy Manor, when she first laid eyes on Harry being carried back to the castle, dead in Hagrid’s arms. 

She wiped silent tears from her face and visibly jumped when a loud _ caww _pulled her back to reality. Not far from her sat a single crow, eyeing her beadily with shiny, black eyes.

She took a shaking breath in. “You scared me, you beast.” 

It felt odd to speak out loud, not having had anyone to converse with for so long. Her voice seemed too much in the quietude of the land. The bird cawed again and hopped a little closer, its head tilted to the side. 

“I’ve nothing for you. Go on, shoo.” 

Hermione stood from her position and turned to go back to the house when the crow not only hopped away from her but took flight so suddenly, she was momentarily startled herself. The chill became worse and she pulled her coat tighter, wondering how it was that it turned so cold when she couldn’t even feel any wind.

Wind. She stopped in her tracks. That’s what was missing. It had been still for days. Hermione tried to think back to her walks. Not once had she found the need to pull her scarf higher due to a breeze, to don a hat to stop her unruly hair from fluttering in the wind: because there hadn’t been any. 

Suddenly feeling very uneasy, she hurried her steps and pulled her wand from her pocket. When she was half-way to the house, her steps turned into a run. Nearly back. She reached the door, pulled it open, ran through and slammed it closed behind her, for the first time warding it with magic spells she hadn’t used since she’d been on the run with Harry and Ron, camping in forests.

Hermione used her wand to flick the curtains closed, and add logs to the fire. She had felt nothing but relaxed since she’d arrived in this little oasis. Not anymore. Something was wrong, she could feel it now, her insides squirming in anxiety. Hermione was sick to her stomach.

There was no wind to rustle the leaves on the trees, no wind to rattle gently against the windows, no cawing of crows, or - come to think of it - any kind of noise, from any wildlife. Hermione, wand firmly grasped in her hand, walked over to the living room window to look out. Maybe it had all been in her imagination. Maybe her memory of the past few walks had been wrong. Maybe she was becoming paranoid for nothing.

She drew back the curtain with her free hand. For a second, she wondered how it had turned dark within the few minutes since she’d come inside. Then, her brain caught up with her eyes, and she clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip so hard, she drew blood. Frozen in place, she stared right at it. And it stared right back with its strange eye-less face, the sockets scabbed over, the skin looking scabbed, grey and decayed.

When her ears registered the low rumbling of its quiet rattling breath that came out of the grotesque round opening where one might imagine a mouth should be, she was finally pulled out of her stupor. Hermione raised her wand, shaking, and cast the _ Patronus Charm_. Only a silver mist escaped her wand. She swallowed and, against her instincts, closed her eyes to collect herself, thinking of everything good she could and raised her wand again.

“Expecto Patronum!” She all but shouted the incantation and was almost weak with relief when her otter zoomed out of her wand, directly at the Dementor which fled immediately. Breathing erratically, she let the curtains fall shut again and walked backwards until her legs made contact with the arm of the couch and she sat down heavily. 

Why would a Dementor be out here? Dementors weren’t known to be solitary creatures living in the middle of nowhere. They preferred populated places; they needed populated places in order to feed. So what was this one doing out here, in the middle of a national park with exactly one person in residence? 

Hermione thought back to her time in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She hadn’t ever really dealt with Dementors, though she had, in passing, taken note of the vile beings when the Ministry had taken drastic action to remove them from their posts as prison guards in Azkaban. 

They’d been rounded up by a special task force, put together by the International Confederation of Wizards, and - for the want of a better word - _ rehomed _to a remote location in the Antarctic, firmly shut off from the world. 

So, what was this one doing here? It took her a while to get her breathing under control, to stop shaking, to get herself back together enough to think clearly. Hermione produced another Patronus, this time instructing it to find Kingsley Shacklebolt and tell him about her encounter. Once that was dispatched, she sent another, this time to Harry, explaining the same thing. 

Hermione then went to pack her few belongings, unwilling to stay in the cabin longer than strictly necessary. She needed to get out of there before any more of those vile things would turn up to feast on her. She knew she needed to get out of there while she still had a chance to think happy thoughts and conjure her otter.

Once packed, she extinguished the fire, concentrated hard on her destination and turned into the Disapparation. The familiar squeezing sensation didn’t come. She was still in the same place. Momentary confusion turned to realisation. Hermione remembered the hike, the spells that prevented the cabin to entered. 

She would have to hike back to a point beyond the wards, through the woods, through the fog. She shivered at the thought, a cold tingle running down her spine.

Hermione reignited the fire and added extra logs, noting how her supply was running low. She swallowed and sent a cursory glance at the locked and warded front door. 

She hoped Kingsley and Harry got her messages. 

Hermione scoured the cabin’s bookshelves to find anything at all that might be able to help her situation. In the back of her mind, she remembered reading somewhere that breeding Dementors could cause misty conditions. There had been debate amongst scholars as to how they breed, or if they did indeed breed at all - some concluded that the mist merely showed an unpleasant side-effect of having too many of the vile beings in one area.

She shuddered to think there were_ that _many out there. 

She pulled an old copy of_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ out of the shelf and siphoned the dust off with her wand before continuing to scan the other books for helpful titles. Twenty minutes later, she’d added a few more finds: _ Bestiarium Magicum_, _ Confronting the Faceless_, and a promising looking book in minuscule delicate print, interspersed with fine, cursive handwriting in the margins: _ Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes_. 

Hermione spent the afternoon pouring over the books she’d found, reading up on Dementors and searching for spells that might help her get out of the woods unscathed, beyond the Patronus Charm. After all, she couldn’t be sure her messages had arrived at their destinations, and she would rather find a way out than to succumb to these horrible non-beings. 

_ Non-beings_. Hermione latched onto her irritation with both hands. They weren’t even _ alive_, they weren’t dead. They were simply _ there_, without actually being. How dare they try and attack her, how dare they intrude upon her week of solitude. 

She used parchment and quill to write down anything at all that could be useful to her - some of it so obvious that she nearly groaned at herself for not having thought of it without a book. 

Even while Hermione worked away at finding information, she strained her ears against any noises from the outside. It was eerily quiet. More than once, she thought she’d heard faint knocking on the windows only to realise it was her own thumping heartbeat in her ears that had her jumping up in fright. When she had exhausted her resources, she began to prepare for the night ahead.

Before she added the last of her logs to the fire, she decided to use the Doubling Charm, _Geminio, _on the wood in hopes that it would be sufficient to see her through the night at least. The last thing she wanted to do was face the outside, and possible Dementors, especially at night when her nerves were already frayed. 

Hermione hunkered down in the small living room for the evening and night. She’d ensured that all the windows were firmly secured and warded, and room doors locked. Hermione certainly didn’t consider herself a coward - after all she’d been through in her life - though out here, alone, without communication, she was 5 years old again, afraid of the shadows in the corners, hearing things that weren’t actually there - or were they? Was that rattle a Dementor by the window? 

She’d turned herself, wrapped up in a blanket for warmth, so that her back was to the wall, and she could easily see both the door and the single window. Having them in front of her gave her a small sense of security, knowing nothing could sneak up on her. 

The log on the fire cracked loudly and Hermione stifled a scream by stuffing her fist into her mouth, willing her heart to return to her chest and her insides to settle. She breathed in through her nose for 4 counts, slowly out through her mouth for 6, shaky at first but gradually calming. The technique had helped her over the past years since the war, whenever a sudden sound, a certain smell, a brief glimpse brought it all back - the war, the fighting, the pain, the deaths.

By morning, her eyes stung and itched from tiredness. She’d tried to rest on the couch but couldn't find it in her to close her eyes. Each time she tried, her mind went to dark places, reliving her worst days, the running, chasing, torture. Her active imagination didn’t stop at facts, she relived the days worse, watching friends die even knowing they had survived. It felt like her own personal Boggart had taken up residence inside her head, her heart hammering, breath stuttering, and insides squirming. 

Morning had come and lightened the dark sky outside to another dull, grey day. Hermione yawned, the noise loud in her ears, and clasped her hands over her mouth. She quickly checked the time on her wristwatch and noted that it had been almost exactly 18 hours since she’d run into the Dementor, not much less since she’d sent her Patronus messenger. 

Surely, Harry or Kingsley ought to have arrived by now? Worrying her lip between her teeth, she warily got up off the couch and anxiously approached the window. 

Breathe in, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four, five, six. In four, out six. In four, out six.

With a trembling hand, her wand firmly grasped in the other, she carefully moved the curtain for a fraction of an inch to peer outside. Her eyes roamed about the scene before her: the small lawn, the flower beds along the path to the lake, the small wooden pier at the end of it, the tall trees surrounding the little oasis this cabin stood in. 

Her breath slowly escaped her; she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding it. The outside was calm, undisturbed and devoid of anything but nature as far as she could see. The fog was closer again, more than half-way across the lake, now at the near edges of the woods. Hermione let the curtain fall back into place and went over to the list she’d made the evening before.

  * __Patronus Charm__
  * _Cheering Charm_
  * _Disillusionment Charm _
  * _Vermillious - Dua & Tria_
  * _Incendio_

She knew the only guaranteed spell to work against Dementors was the Patronus Charm. For the charm to work, she would have to gather her happiest memories. She knew in her heart what they were and thought back at them - finding out she was a witch, the warmth flooding her as her first wand chose her, kissing Ron, her parents recognising her once the memory charm was lifted - though her fears of facing the rattling, eye-less things made it more difficult for her to hold on to these brief moments of her life.

While she ate a meagre, unhealthy breakfast she couldn’t help but think of her parents. What would two dentists make of their only daughter having a small chocolate bar first thing in the morning? She could almost hear them berating her. The thought nearly made her smile. Nearly, until she thought of what her parents would say if they knew she was facing Dementors in the woods, alone, cut off from help and further resources. Would they ever know how she… died? A Dementor’s Kiss didn’t kill: it sucked out your soul. Was that to be her fate? Lie here, soulless, an empty shell of a body with no sense of self?

Hermione took an extra bite of chocolate and rubbed her hands over her face. She had to get up and start doing something before her thoughts spiralled downwards.

So she jumped up and threw a few granola bars, a bottle of water, and more chocolate - mint flavoured of all things, the one she’d bought especially for Ron - into her beaded bag. She would make a run for it, there was no other way out. It had been too long since she’d sent her messages. If she stayed, she’d be a sitting duck and it would only be a matter of time before she would succumb to her fears, depression, and despair. 

She was not going to be Dementor fodder. A bloody Dementor was not going to be her end. Hermione Granger was not going to let one of those things win.

A swift look around found her an old-fashioned glass lantern. She quickly conjured up one of her trademark bluebell flames inside it: not too hot to give her burns, but warm enough to keep away the chill and - she hoped - blue enough to blend into the grey fog, less to draw attention to herself out there. 

Hermione donned her coat and a scarf, hitched her bag onto her shoulder and stood behind the front door, knowing she must go out there, but unable to find the first step so easily. She closed her eyes and let happy memories flood her again. A silver otter sprang forth upon her muttered incantation and she instructed it once more to find Harry and tell him she was coming home - through the fog and Dementors.

Once her Patronus had left, she took a few calming breaths and went through her list of spells. Nodding to herself, she raised her wand and Disillusioned herself. Even knowing that a Disillusionment Charm would not deter Dementors who relied upon human’s feelings to guide them instead of sight, she felt better knowing she was almost invisible to the things.

Slowly, Hermione’s hand reached out to the door and she opened it, holding her breath. Her heart was beating in her throat, her blood rushing in her ears, almost as if anticipating a Dementor standing, waiting, on the doorstep.

The only thing that greeted her was utter stillness. No wind, no sound, no Dementors. Only quiet, and fog - so much thick fog - usurping nigh on everything around her. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she held her wand tighter and willed her feet forward. 

Hermione briefly thought of Mad-Eye Moody and how useful his magical eye would be right now. Since she didn’t have the luxury of such an item, she moved swiftly, but as gently as she could, down the garden path. Hermione took care to avoid the loud gravel crunching beneath her by gingerly stepping on the side of the flower beds. 

Her eyes swivelled up, left, right, up and as far behind her as she could without losing sight of what was in front of her. The closer she got to the woods, the lower the temperature got and the flame in her lantern did nothing to alleviate it. She could feel the cold seeping into her, reminding her of the dreary winter nights on the run when not only the weather but the hunger and Ron’s absence had eaten her insides.

As she approached the first trees on the edge of the property’s gardens, she heard it: the rattling wheeze that instilled fear. For a moment, she was frozen in place, unable to locate the direction it came from. Then, there was a flutter and her flame extinguished inside the glass, smoke dispersing through the gaps, momentarily engulfing her face. 

Hermione dropped the lantern and it clanged unnaturally loudly against the silence of her surroundings. She turned on the spot in an attempt to find the Dementor near her and she fired off a Patronus charm, letting the otter circle her. 

Feeling unease but knowing she was as safe as could be while her Patronus stayed close, she concentrated on all that was happy to keep it corporeal and move further along the side of the woods. Hermione knew she had to skim the trees until a clear path led her in. She’d managed to walk a few more yards, almost able to see the opening through which she needed to enter the forest when the Dementor not only returned but brought what looked like a whole army with it. 

The chill they brought with them froze the water droplets in the air and on Hermione’s skin. Her teeth chattered as her Patronus dissolved into silvery mist when she lost concentration. She watched it disappear in horror, immediately overcome with fear and despair in the onslaught of such numbers around her. 

It took all the willpower she possessed but she managed to shake her paralyzed state and she desperately cast the charm over and over again in all directions - though she barely managed to produce a sliver of it, weaker with every try.

Frantic, she switched to other spells that randomly entered her usually organised mind, hoping one of them would help her, would buy her time to run. She dropped her bag, needing freedom to move as she fired shots in all directions around her: _ Incendio, Bombarda, Vermillious, Incendio_! Over and over, she repeated the spells, hoping the heat would keep the cold-dwellers away. 

To her right, a tree burst into flames so suddenly, she jumped at the intense heat and sudden crackle of the wood burning hotly beside her. Hermione realised the Dementors retreated a little. She didn’t waste time, simply reacted, and turned to run only to find her path blocked by Dementors on all sides that weren’t burning, even from above. 

Panting and frenzied, she moved back as close as she dared to the large fire that quickly threatened to take over neighbouring trees. She kept her back to the flames and almost laughed as she thought of herself as a witch being burned alive at the stake. Memories of homework long ago, of witches enjoying being burned as the flames merely tickle them, magic rendering the fire ineffective and she knew she couldn’t afford herself that courtesy as it would lose its effect on the Dementors as well. 

Hermione sent more sparks into the air, using the strongest charm she knew. “_Vermillious Tria _!” She hoped that someone was, by now, paying attention. 

Despite the heat behind her, the Dementors came closer, inch by inch, in a grotesque show of the macabre and she wondered if death by fire would be worse than what would happen to her if she received the Dementor’s Kiss. Would it be painful? Or was the painful part the fact that she knew her mind would be gone, her friends lost to her, she to her friends, never to see Ron again, never to be able to tell people she loved them. Knowing she would be but an empty shell until her body ceased to function due to age, left her reeling, panicking: what if she was going to be trapped in her mind, her body, soulless and unable to communicate but suffering for the rest of her days?

She had heard that people who faced death were overcome with a kind of calm; a clear mind that saw death for what it was: merely a change of circumstances. Harry had recounted it the same way: strong in his belief that it would be painless, a quick flick and it would be over. 

Hermione felt none of the calm. To the contrary, her mind was whirling with thoughts of wanting to survive, having to get out of this, needing to see her friends. As her panic threatened to overwhelm her, she maniacally tried to cast cheering charms on herself in a vain attempt to produce happier thoughts and regain her Patronus. 

She could hear screaming, loud in her ears. Was help coming? She couldn’t see, the grey sky darkened by the cloaked figures gliding all around her and being blinded by the firelight behind her. The screaming became louder in her ears and she wondered who was there with her. It was only when she felt a slimy hand on her shoulder that struck her numb that she realised it had been her who was screaming, her throat raw. 

Hermione kicked and punched at the figure but her strength was no match for the Dementor now closing in on her face, its hood lowered. Misery and anguish overcame her and she fell to her knees, her body kept upright by the slimy limb on her.

She’d failed. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as the Dementor began its deep inhale, extracting vapour from Hermione’s lungs making her lightheaded and weak. She’d failed. Deep beneath the consciousness of her soul, a thought worked its way to the last vestiges of her quickly failing mind: the fog had lifted just as Hermione Granger’s world went black. 


End file.
